


in the garden of the lord

by soundsandsweetairs



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Fix-It, Forgiveness, Javert is a grump, M/M, Post-Seine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundsandsweetairs/pseuds/soundsandsweetairs
Summary: It was not an easy thing, to rethink the way one saw the world.Valjean pulls Javert from the Seine and nurses him back to health. Javert comes to understand the meaning of forgiveness.
Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	in the garden of the lord

A strong hand pulled him, gasping and choking, from the Seine. 

Javert spewed water and bile all over his savior’s feet. He ached all over. Someone had stymied his last desperate attempt to regain some kind of control over what was left of his life! He had never expected to breathe the filthy Paris air again. 

Javert was only half-aware as he was lifted onto someone’s back. His feet dragged over the cobblestones as the stranger heaved him away from the bank of the river and into a carriage. Javert could mutter only a token protest as he slumped onto the plush seat, his savior an unknown presence across from him. 

Finally, though the carriage jolted over Paris’ cobblestone streets, he slept.

Javert drifted in and out of consciousness, for how long he didn’t know. He threw his covers off, sweating, only to find his teeth chattering the next minute. Every inch of him ached. His body seemed to be rebelling at this second chance at life. 

Sensations flowed around him. Cool, dry fingers ghosting over his forehead. Fresh water meeting his lips. Soft sunlight shining through white curtains. This couldn’t be Heaven, could it?

——

Javert’s eyes fluttered open. His head was miraculously clear, and though his body ached, he no longer felt at risk of perishing at any moment. He pressed a shaking hand to his forehead and attempted to figure out where he might be. The room was modest but well-kept, with a shelf of books against the wall and—

It couldn’t be. Jean Valjean, in the flesh, looking mild-mannered and tranquil as he read in a chair next to the bed. 

Javert scrambled upright, then gasped as pain shot through him. He was weaker than he’d imagined. Valjean looked up from his book in alarm. 

“Please, Monsieur, you must rest. You aren’t yet strong enough to leave the bed.” Valjean rose from his chair, and Javert recoiled. What could he possibly have done to deserve this, deliverance into the hands of the man who had bedeviled him for years? Here he was, once again at Valjean’s mercy. 

Valjean raised his hands, placating. “I mean you no harm. The nurse says you require rest if you are to regain your strength.”

Javert’s heart pounded with dread. He was trapped here, trapped with the one person he’d hoped never to see again. 

“What am I doing here?” Javert’s voice was rough from disuse. 

Sadness slid across Valjean’s face. “I fished you out of the Seine, Javert. If I hadn’t been there….” He looked troubled. “I hope it was not my actions that led you to the river.”

Javert glared at him and blew out a frustrated breath. “Why are you doing this? You could have left me for dead, and I’d be off your tail forever.”

Valjean closed his eyes, pained. “Long ago… a man gave me a second chance, though I didn’t deserve it. I’ve lived my life trying to be worthy of the gift he gave me.” His face was earnest as he met Javert’s gaze. “Let me pass along this forgiveness to you.”

Javert fumed. What gave Valjean the right to sermonize about forgiveness to him! Valjean, who was a common criminal, a creature of the gutter himself!

He turned over, putting his back to Valjean. Yes, perhaps he was sulking, but surely he was allowed a foul mood after being unwillingly saved by the very fugitive he had spent his life chasing!

He heard Valjean sigh behind him. “I’m glad you’re awake, Javert. I’ll see about getting you some food — perhaps broth would do you well.”

Javert’s stomach growled, the traitorous thing. He heard the door close as Valjean left the room. This was intolerable! Not only had he failed to end his life, he’d been rescued by the man that had caused his worldview to crack and shatter. He closed his eyes. How could God be so cruel?

——

A nurse visited once a day, in the afternoon, to check on his progress, but otherwise Valjean was his only companion. Valjean wiped the sweat from his brow when fever wracked his body, Valjean spoon-fed him when he was too weak to feed himself, Valjean helped him to and from the chamber pot. It was humiliating, to be at the mercy of this man. 

Javert let his irritability get the better of him one day as Valjean was helping him trim his whiskers, an aspect of his appearance in which he’d once taken great pride. 

He waved aside the scissors in Valjean’s hand. “What does it matter how I look? You are the only person who sees me now, 24601!” He snapped the number out like a curse. 

Valjean stiffened. He’d hit a nerve. “Please, Javert. Don’t call me that.”

Javert sneered. “It’s who you are, isn’t it? A convict who never finished out your sentence.”

“I left that man behind a long time ago.” Valjean sat back in his chair and set down the scissors. His hands were trembling. 

“Very presumptuous of you, to decide that you can simply leave the past behind! The law will decide when it is finished with you, not the other way around.”

Valjean sent him a baleful look. “And are you the law?”

Javert looked down, chastened. He was right, of course. “No. I once thought that I was a fair arbiter of justice…. I do not place myself upon that high pedestal anymore.”

Valjean looked like he was about to say something saccharine and moralizing. Javert interrupted him. “I’m very tired. Please leave me.”

Valjean stood with a sigh. Javert fumed, glaring at Valjean’s back as he left the room. If he found Javert exhausting, well, he had brought this on himself, hadn't he! It wasn’t Javert’s fault that Valjean had pulled him, unwilling, from the river.

Valjean’s gentleness was persistent and frustrating. No matter how hard-headed Javert was, he never raised his voice above his usual calm, patient tone. His hands continued to be compassionate, though Javert thundered against him. 

Somehow, impossibly, Valjean appeared to honestly want Javert to regain his health. Even a saint would have second thoughts about helping the man who had hounded his footsteps for nearly twenty years! And yet, Valjean seemed to have no qualms. Days passed, and the man’s patience and kindness seemed to have no bounds. 

As he healed, Javert had time to think.  _ Too much time, _ he mused. 

He had once taken the letter of the law to be sacrosanct. Now, though, seeing Valjean’s gentleness and goodness, he could only admit that it would indeed be wrong to punish this man any further than he already had been. Surely Valjean was atoning every day for the wrongs of his past. 

Javert had spent his life in service of an ideal. And now he found that it was insufficient — that the world was more complex than he had imagined, that justice and mercy could perhaps coexist. 

It was not an easy thing, to rethink the way one saw the world. The torments of his changed mind dogged him. Hadn’t he always argued for the harshest fair sentence? Hadn’t he condemned men to serve their time without parole? Javert felt tears spring to his eyes as he considered the ways in which his well-ordered life had shifted under his feet.

He heard the door open behind him and wiped at his eyes. Valjean could surely see his shoulders shaking as he wept. 

“Javert—” Worry colored his voice. 

“Don’t.” Javert snapped at him. His voice didn’t break, at least. 

He heard Valjean leave the room and was grateful for this small mercy. To be seen at this moment of weakness!

He had never asked for Valjean’s pity, and disgust rippled through him at the idea of shaming himself so in front of Valjean. How far he had fallen! He was surely more wretched even than the condemned man in the dock, for he had seen his life’s purpose stripped away from him. 

——

Valjean had taken to reading out loud to Javert, who still suffered headaches if he attempted to stare at words on a page for too long. The Bible was his most preferred reading material, and they often paused to discuss passages. On this day, Valjean was reading Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, and had reached Paul’s exhortation for kindness and forgiveness.

Javert felt his heart heave as Valjean finished out the chapter. Had Valjean chosen these verses as a message to him? The words felt pointed.

Javert cleared his throat. “I imagine this is a passage you return to frequently?”

Valjean looked up. “Why do you say that?”

Javert shot him a look. Would he really feign ignorance?  _ “Let the thief no longer steal, but labor, doing honest work with his own hands? Be tenderhearted, forgiving? _ You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

Valjean huffed out a laugh. “Believe it or not, my friend, I’m as in the dark as you.” Javert frowned. They weren’t friends.

Valjean continued. “I’ve spent my life trying to atone for my sins as a younger man. What God intends… none of us can know.” He closed the Bible and rubbed his fingers over the worn cover. “You’re right — I have often found comfort in Paul’s words here. In the hope that I may be forgiven, as I forgive others.” He hesitated. “I had hoped they might bring you solace as well.”

Javert’s throat was tight. “Thank you.”

Valjean leaned over and pressed his wrist. Javert felt the touch like fire. His fingers twitched against the sheets. A strange tautness seemed to pull through the air between them as Valjean took his leave. This awareness of Valjean’s presence was as unwelcome as it was unexpected. He clenched his teeth.

One morning, Javert woke to find that he felt restless and full of energy. When he sat up in bed, his body wasn’t as achy as it had previously been. “I think I would like to attempt to walk to the next room today,” he told Valjean when he brought Javert his breakfast. 

Valjean raised his eyebrows. “Are you certain?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,” Javert snipped back. 

Valjean smiled. “Alright. Would you like my assistance?”

Javert glared at him. “If you please.”

Javert gripped Valjean’s arm as he stood. His legs shook slightly under him. He gritted his teeth at his body’s weakness. 

Valjean hovered nearby, swooping in at one point when Javert stumbled. Valjean’s back and shoulders were very muscular under Javert’s arm. He cursed himself for noticing. 

They made it into the next room, which had a small dining table and a window that looked out onto a lovely backyard garden. Javert collapsed into a chair, panting. His chest ached from the exertion. 

Valjean was fairly beaming. “Well done!” He clasped Javert’s shoulders. 

Javert was rather flustered at his enthusiasm. “Yes, yes. A great achievement — I’m able to walk twenty steps.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Now if you would get me a glass of water?”

Valjean smiled at him again and acquiesced. 

Javert grew stronger all that week. He finally felt capable of walking out to the garden at the rear of the house, and found that he enjoyed sitting in the late afternoon sunlight, which dappled the ground in a pleasing way. Sometimes Valjean joined him. Javert began to realize, against all odds, that he rather enjoyed Valjean’s company. 

Javert sighed to himself. He had been so very, very certain for so many years. Surely, at his age, it was too late to experience such a change in perspective. 

As they settled into something of a routine, Javert was troubled at how frequently he found Valjean staring into nothing, or wiping a tear away as he wrote letters.The man wasn’t made to be a solitary creature, and clearly the absence of his daughter was eating at him. 

“You should send her those letters you’re writing her.” Valjean blinked up in surprise at Javert looming over him one evening. “I can see that it’s killing you not to see her. Surely there’s no harm in it.”

Valjean’s brow creased. “They’re safer without me in their lives.”

Javert tried not to let his irritation show on his face. “Really, Valjean.” He sat across from him at the table. “May you not allow yourself this one joy in your life?” How odd, Javert thought, that he was the one encouraging Valjean not to give up on the world. It was as if their roles had been reversed!

Valjean’s face was terribly sad. “Cosette doesn’t know about my past. If she were to find out — how could her opinion of me not change?”

“Surely, Valjean, removing yourself from her life entirely is no better! What must she think of you now, avoiding her at all costs?”

Valjean appeared to be growing frustrated with Javert’s insistent arguments. “What does it matter to you, Javert? My daughter’s happiness can have no bearing on you!”

Really, the man was infuriating. “Of course I am not concerned about your daughter’s happiness! It is— well—” he was sputtering— “I do not care to see  _ you _ unhappy!”

Valjean looked surprised at this pronouncement. Javert could feel himself redden. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out so baldly. 

Valjean looked back down at the letter. “I will consider it. Thank you, my friend, for your counsel. And your encouragement.”

Javert harrumphed and stood. He pressed Valjean’s shoulder with his hand as he passed him. A spark seemed to jump between them. Javert withdrew, rubbing his palm. 

Something changed between them after that day. Javert, who had finally begun to grow comfortable in Valjean’s presence, now frequently found Valjean’s soft gaze resting upon him. He flushed mortifyingly whenever their hands touched, as if he were a schoolboy! He found himself attempting to draw out Valjean’s smiles and gentle laughter. It was dismaying. 

They were in the garden one day, seated on the uncomfortable wrought iron bench. Valjean read out a humorous passage from the book he was reading, and Javert was startled into a laugh. 

Valjean looked surprised and pleased at eliciting a reaction. He set his book down and reached out a hand to touch Javert’s arm. Javert looked at him in wonder. His heart, which he had always considered to be made of stone, trembled at the tenderness in Valjean’s eyes. 

“Javert—” Valjean was leaning towards him. Javert could hear his pulse loud in his ears. He closed his eyes and they were kissing. 

Javert’s hand came to Valjean’s face. Stubble pricked at his fingers. Valjean’s lips were soft on his own. The kiss was clumsy (—Javert noted with some relief that this didn’t seem to be something that Valjean did frequently, either). Javert found himself shaking when they pulled apart. 

Javert searched Valjean’s face incredulously. “How can you want this from me? Who has hunted you your entire life?”

Their faces were still very close. Valjean’s fingers brushed wonderingly over Javert’s jaw. “I’ve seen you struggle with yourself these past weeks, Javert. You’re a good man, a man who wants to do the right thing. I don’t blame you for doing your duty.”

“I’ve been alone my entire life. I’m well aware that at my age, I'm not well-suited to share a home with someone.” He was making up excuses. Surely something would discourage Valjean. 

“Your habits suit me just fine.” Valjean’s lips were curled into a smile. Javert found that he could not look away from them. “I’ve had no complaints from the time I’ve spent with you as you’ve been healing.”

Javert scoffed. “That can’t possibly be true. I know very well that I’ve been an abysmal houseguest.”

Valjean laughed. “Only at times.”

“And you want me?” Javert didn’t dare hope. 

Valjean took Javert’s hand in his. “I do.”

“Well then.” He cleared his throat. “You may… continue.”

Valjean’s smile outshone the sun. Javert leaned back into him.

——

_ They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord _

_ They will walk behind the plowshare — they will put away the sword _

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, I watched a clip of Javert's Suicide the other day and was forcibly catapulted back to my college Les Mis-obsessed self, and this is the result.
> 
> Ephesians 4:28-32 is the specific passage they're discussing; Javert paraphrases it slightly. (I am only a humble ex-Catholic, so apologies for any weirdness; I DID simply do a google search for "bible quotes about forgiveness", and I thought these verses were really appropriate.)


End file.
